


One More Chance VII

by DancingHare



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 17:45:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13439961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DancingHare/pseuds/DancingHare
Summary: An unwelcome face from Vassanta's past returns.





	One More Chance VII

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published July 2, 2008

Shattrath was crowded this morning, and that suited Vassanta just fine. She wanted to slip into the crowd and disappear, maybe find a few mugs at World’s End, and collect her thoughts. Damn that elf! Every time she turned around in Stormwind, he was there, and his questions were growing more and more uncomfortable.

The Vindicator hadn’t yet given his approval, but Shattrath felt more like home than anywhere else — even if blood elf filth roamed freely there. Vassanta paused to glare at one as she passed, a magister as best she could tell. He wore the colors of the Shattered Sun, the flag that united her people with their former enemies, to turn against the master they once loyally served. How long until they turned on A’dal as well? Though she hated sharing her home with them, the thought of an attack from within was even worse. Perhaps Velen trusted these traitors… but she did not.

Her hooves clicked down the long ramp that led into the lower ring of the city. It seemed like a lifetime ago that she and Vajarra had played here; in a way, it was. An ethereal lurked languidly at the tavern’s doorway, rolling a coin over its phantom fingers. “Ah, Miss Vassanta,” it purred, its energy shimmering briefly from purple to pink. “It’s been a while.”

Vassanta allowed herself a smile. “Yes, Qahhar, it has. What’s good here today?”

It chuckled, at least, it made a close approximation. Vassanta found the effort slightly un-nerving, as did most people, but at least it was trying to fit in. “Everything,” Qahhar replied, the coin disappearing within the coils of its wrappings with expert ease. “You still owe me a game of dice, my dear.”

She shook her head, the grin widening into a genuine one. “Hah, no, I’m not in the mood to lose my shirt just yet.” She lowered her head in a nod before she brushed past the ethereal, into the dim tavern. Unlike Stormwind, she’d never seen the tavern here empty, no matter the hour. Vassanta dropped a pair of coins on the smooth stone counter before the Broken, and leaned back to survey her prospects. An ogre, already heavily drunk, slumped over the bar on the opposite side of the room. No one wanted to challenge him for his place at the bar, it seemed. Her side had a bit more activity; a pair of blood elves leaned in close together and she doubted they would be here much longer. A glum-looking gnome sat beside a Sporeling, the green-blue creature nodded enthusiastically although Vassanta doubted it understood a word of what the gnome was saying. So it would be a quiet morning, and that suited her just fine. Vassanta settled down on her stool, hooking her hooves together as she swung her feet idly.

Shaarubo returned with her drinks, setting them down on the counter before her. “You been gone a long time, Vassanta,” the Broken remarked, as he began to wipe down the clean mugs. “Coming back to Shattrath now?”

“I didn’t know you all missed me so much,” Vassanta laughed. “Actually, I’m hoping to go fight at the front soon. At the portal, if I can.”

He raised his thick brows in surprise. “Much danger there, you are sure you want to go? Stay here in the city, is safe, you buy my drinks.”

Vassanta shook her head, grinning again. Why had she waited so long to come back here? Somewhere behind her, a party of blood elves clanged noisily in, flocking around one of the tables and speaking loudly in their own tongue. She spared them a brief look, but little thought. “I’ve been in training for years,” she explained to the Broken. “It’s what I was meant to do. I finally feel like everything’s starting to come together for me.”

Shaarubo nodded a vague reply, but it seemed as if he was no longer listening to her. Vassanta sipped at her mead, following the Broken’s even stare to the table of blood elves behind her. They’d grown even more noisy, laughing uproariously at some joke. To her ears, the sound was cruel and harsh, malicious rather than joyful. That laugh, it sounded almost like–

She knocked the stool over in her haste, uprighting it with trembling hands as she hurried for the door, leaving her mug and her change on the counter. It had sounded like him, but surely it couldn’t be the same elf, her imagination was running wild. Her heart racing, she reached the bright landing outside and started down the path, whichever would take her away from him.

His hand closed around her wrist like a manacle, and fear shot through her veins. She tried to tug it free, but he held fast, twisting it expertly behind her back in a deft motion. “What a pleasant surprise,” the elf hissed, his breath hot in her ear. Oh Light no, how could he be here?

The blood elf stepped back, though he still held her fast. Even if he hadn’t, Vassanta was certain that her legs wouldn’t obey her; she was struck dumb by the sight of him here, in her home. And there was no question that it was him, though he wore different armor and his hair was tied back, it was the same face that had haunted her thoughts. “Here I thought my pretty little prize had escaped for good,” he sneered. She set her jaw, trying to regain her composure. If he saw that she was afraid, he would only seize upon it like a hound who has scented blood.

Vassanta’s stomach clenched, threatening to turn over. She’d almost been able to forget those weeks on Bloodmyst isle, she’d focused that terror and seething hatred into her lessons, making something good from something bad. But now it all rushed back, and she felt as helpless as she had in that wretched and filthy cage. He eyed her hungrily, circling like a stalking beast. “It was very naughty of you to kill my guards, you know,” his voice rasping like a knife against stone. She tried to reach for her mace with her other hand, but he danced back with a knowing smirk. “Relax, little demon. Don’t you know we are on the same side now?”

“I am not on your side,” Vassanta managed to choke out a reply.

He laughed again, that terrible, mocking laugh. “Oh yes,” he said, lifting her chin with a finger. She couldn’t avoid that terrible, fel-green gaze. “You are now.”


End file.
